Оглавление
Коллектив авторов. 30 лучших рассказов американских писателей
Sherwood Anderson. An Awakening
John Kendrick Bangs. The Water Ghost of Harrowby Hall
Ambrose Bierce. An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Eliza Calvert Hall. Aunt Jane’s Album
Kate Chopin. Ma’ame Pelagie
I
II
III
IV
Stephen Crane. The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky
I
II
III
IV
Francis Marion Crawford. The Upper Berth
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
Bernice Bobs Her Hair
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Charlotte Perkins Gilman. The Yellow Wall Paper
Bret Harte
The Outcasts of Poker Flat
The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment
The Birthmark
Washington Irving. The Devil and Tom Walker
Sarah Orne Jewett. The White Heron
I
II
Jack London
The Terrible Solomons
To Build a Fire
Howard Phillips Lovecraft. Dagon[129]
Herman Melville. The Fiddler
Edward Page Mitchell. The Tachypomp. A Mathematical Demonstration
O. Henry. Proof of the Pudding
‘Next to Reading Matter’
The Guilty Party. An East Side Tragedy
The Ransom of Red Chief
Edgar Allan Poe
The Fall of the House of Usher
The Masque of the Red Death
Mark Twain
How I Edited an Agricultural Paper
Experience of the McWilliamses with Membranous Croup [As related to the author of this book by Mr. McWilliams, a pleasant New York gentleman whom the said author met by chance on a journey.]
Edith Wharton. The Choice
I
II
Отрывок из книги
Belle Carpenter had a dark skin, grey eyes and thick lips. She was tall and strong. When black thoughts visited her she grew angry and wished she were a man and could fight someone with her fists. She worked in the millinery shop kept by Mrs. Nate McHugh and during the day sat trimming hats by a window at the rear of the store. She was the daughter of Henry Carpenter, bookkeeper in the First National Bank of Winesburg, Ohio[1], and lived with him in a gloomy old house far out at the end of Buckeye Street. The house was surrounded by pine trees and there was no grass beneath the trees. A rusty tin eaves-trough had slipped from its fastenings at the back of the house and when the wind blew it beat against the roof of a small shed, making a dismal drumming noise that sometimes persisted all through the night.
When she was a young girl Henry Carpenter made life almost unbearable for his daughter, but as she emerged from girlhood into womanhood he lost his power over her. The bookkeeper’s life was made up of innumerable little pettinesses. When he went to the bank in the morning he stepped into a closet and put on a black alpaca coat that had become shabby with age. At night when he returned to his home he donned another black alpaca coat. Every evening he pressed the clothes worn in the streets. He had invented an arrangement of boards for the purpose. The trousers to his street suit were placed between the boards and the boards were clamped together with heavy screws. In the morning he wiped the boards with a damp cloth and stood them upright behind the dining room door. If they were moved during the day he was speechless with anger and did not recover his equilibrium for a week.
.....
But still there was no offer of fight. The name of Jack Potter, his ancient antagonist, entered his mind, and he concluded that it would be a glad thing if he should go to Potter’s house and by bombardment induce him to come out and fight. He moved in the direction of his desire, chanting Apache[47] scalp-music[48].
When he arrived at it, Potter’s house presented the same still front as had the other adobes. Taking up a strategic position, the man howled a challenge. But this house regarded him as might a great stone god. It gave no sign. After a decent wait, the man howled further challenges, mingling with them wonderful epithets.
.....
